


Consolation

by APgeeksout



Category: NXT
Genre: Affection, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: “Nobody sleeps alone tonight.” Bobby’s tone brooks no argument, even though Kyle’s pretty sure no one was going to object. Anyway, there’s already a suite booked, way too optimistically as it turns out, for a celebration.UE regroups on the night of Takeover 31.
Relationships: Adam Cole & Bobby Fish & Kyle O'Reilly & Roderick Strong, Adam Cole/Bobby Fish/Kyle O'Reilly/Roderick Strong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Consolation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



“Nobody sleeps alone tonight.” Bobby’s tone brooks no argument, even though Kyle’s pretty sure no one was going to object. Anyway, there’s already a suite booked, way too optimistically as it turns out, for a celebration.

They’re all piled into a rental: Kyle in the back, swathed in half-melted ice packs, poking his tongue absently against the unfamiliar too-sharp edges of his busted teeth; Roddy behind the wheel, trying to feather the turns and avoid the bumps; Adam holding himself stiffly in shotgun; Bobby behind him, angled and stretched so that he can keep a heavy hand on both Adam’s shoulder and Kyle’s thigh.

The ride’s not long, but he’s still stiff at the end of it. Has to take the hand Roddy offers to haul himself out onto the pavement and more or less upright. There’s a stifled groan from the other side of the car, where Adam and Bobby are doing the same.

The Strong-man and the Fish-man insist on taking all the bags themselves, loaded down like sherpas, guiding them through the night and into the lobby. Neither of them is really in any position to fight for their fair share of the load, but when he catches Adam’s eye they share a fond head shake at their stubborn pack mules. Adam loops the arm that isn’t curled protectively against his own ribs around Kyle’s waist, and they fall into step, keeping each other on their feet in more ways than one.

In the room, Adam sags onto one of the kitchenette chairs, and doesn’t even grump that much about the way Roddy’s hovering with a fresh ice pack and the painkillers he’d refused to take back in the trainer’s room. Kyle juices Adam’s shoulders and leaves them to it.

He doesn’t let himself sit. The dull achy heaviness of his limbs is telling him in no uncertain terms that once he’s down, he won’t be getting back up tonight. Instead, he makes his way into the bathroom and cranks the shower up hot. He’d shucked off his gear and tugged on some sweats while they waited for medical to check Adam over, but hadn’t taken the time to wash off the match.

By the time he’s shimmied out of his shirt and started in on the wrapping keeping the ice packs snug against his shoulders, the room is full of steam that fogs Bobby’s glasses when he comes in. Kyle snickers at that, at the same time that Bobby smirks at the strip of plastic he’s hopelessly wound up in. When he draws close enough, Kyle lifts the heavy plastic frames from his nose and sets them aside, then lets Bobby step in closer still to cage him in against the counter.

“Allow me, young Kyle,” he says, reaching around him to stretch at the plastic wrap until it tears and sloughs away from his torso.

“My hero!” He says it on a theatrical sigh, with an exaggerated flutter of eyelashes, before he leans in and lets Bobby hold him up for a minute, shivering a little at the feel of a warm hand skimming over the cool skin of his back and up to comb through the hair at the base of his neck.

“It’s a good thing you like the grays,” Bobby says, his mustache tickling Kyle’s cheek in a way that’s almost certainly on purpose, “because I know I earned a few more tonight.”

“I love it when a plan comes together.” He laughs harder than anyone has probably ever laughed at a reference to _The A Team_ , the rest of the night’s energy powering it and giving it a sharp edge of hysteria. Bobby holds him just a little tighter and tilts his head to press a kiss to his temple.

“Ok, there, Hannibal.” Bobby chuckles with him and pets through his hair again. “How’re the teeth?”

Kyle straightens back up and draws back to give him a cartoony grin, a jagged shark’s smile that he figures Bobby will appreciate.

“Dazzling.”

“They don’t hurt or anything,” he says truthfully enough, though he leaves out that the sharp edges have cut the hell out of the inside of his lip.

Bobby probably knows he’s not getting the whole story, but he lets him get away with it, for now. “Let’s get you into the shower, so we can get you into bed.”

The hot water pelts his skin, washing at least some of his aches down the drain along with the stale sweat and smeared blood and disappointment. He’s standing under the spray, head bowed, letting it beat against the back of his neck and stream down his back and through his hair, when he catches voices over the white noise of the water. He tunes in just long enough to register the familiar voices and low, soothing tones - nothing that means he needs to be ready for a fight - before he lets the sound wash over him like so much hot water.

He's got his head tilted back to drink from the faucet, letting the water pressure sting the raw skin of his lip when Adam edges open the curtain and steps inside with him.

"Please don't drown yourself," Adam says. "You know I can't keep those two in line on my own."

"Could, too," he scoffs, and takes a moment to look Adam over in the hazy light. His hair is loose around his shoulders, and he’s moving slow and stiff, with none of his usual compact grace. He’s going to be a patchwork of bruises tomorrow. With just as little gold to show for it as Kyle; they really are a pair.

The nastiest welt is the one on his left side, a big oblong splotch of dark red wrapped around the curve of his ribs. Might have come from a fist or a knee, a well-aimed kick or a piece of equipment that didn’t give when Adam’s body got ragdolled into it. Picturing the possibilities makes him feel cold despite the hot water still streaming down.

“Maybe. Don’t wanna, though.” Adam’s words are starting to come out just a little slurred, fuzzy around the edges, and Kyle’s not sure if exhaustion is finally just overtaking him or if Roddy maybe did manage to sweet talk him into a pain pill.

“Guess I could be persuaded to stick around.” He reaches out and wraps a hand around Adam’s wrist to pull him forward to stand underneath the spray. A soft sound escapes him when the jets hit his shoulders, and when he bows his head, Kyle leans in to press their foreheads together.

“Sorry I kinda stole your thunder on your big night,” Adam says, so quiet it could almost be drowned out by the shower.

“Turned out to be Finn’s big night after all.” There’s an awkward beat while he tries to draw Adam into a hug without jostling him too much or pressing into too many of his sore spots that ends with working a hand into his hair and shifting to tuck his face into the crook of his neck. “And _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. If everybody hadn’t been so focused on me, nobody would’ve had a chance to jump you.”

“No way,” Adam starts to protest and digs his fingers into the back of his neck.

Kyle only realizes that Roddy’s joined them when he pipes up from other side of the curtain with, “Holland’s the one who really needs to be sorry.”

“And we’re going to see to it that he is,” Bobby says, stepping in behind Adam. There’s something hard in his voice, flinty and fierce, but his hand is soft when it settles between Kyle’s shoulder blades.

They stay there for a minute, wrapped around Adam in the tight space, before Kyle ducks out to find Roddy waiting to snug him up in a towel. He lets himself be fussed over a little, Roddy ruffling the towel through his hair, then moving on to the rest of his bare skin, both patting him down and feeling him up with an efficiency Kyle admires, even if he’s too wiped to do much about it besides press a lazy kiss against his jaw when he comes into range.

“Somebody’s been busy,” he says, as he shuffles into the bedroom with the towel tucked around his waist and Roddy’s hand warm against his stomach. The armchair and ottoman from the little sitting area next to the mini-bar have been dragged in and arranged next to the bed: a place for Adam to rest, babying his fucked-up ribs, within sight and easy reach.

If the night had gone a different way, they could have had some fun with that set-up. Kyle files those images - holding court with the belt with one of his boys at his feet and the others stretched out in the bed putting on a show; or else tangled up between Adam and Roddy, letting them take him apart to the soundtrack of Bobby’s breathless commentary - away for later, and faceplants onto the bed. Roddy laughs at him softly and skims a hand down the line of his body as he walks past, squeezes his ankle gently as he moves back to the main room.

He’s got a change of sleep clothes in his bag, but he can’t be bothered to go get them. Nothing he could possibly put on would be more comfortable than lying absolutely still with his face shoved into the pillow.

It’s not long before he feels the mattress dip a little with Roddy’s weight, but instead of stretching out beside him, he settles at Kyle’s hip, and he smells the salve - peppery and gingery and herby in ways he can’t identify - before Roddy’s fingers are smearing a thin layer across the span of his shoulders and down the hollow of his spine. He moans out his approval at the pressure of strong hands working into the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders and steady working down his back, the salve leaving a tingling warmth in the wake of the touch.

“Messiah of the backrub,” he murmurs when he feels capable of making words again. Roddy’s reached the small of his back by then, just edging against the border of the towel, and acknowledges him with a chuckle and a squeeze of oiled hands into his hips. He gropes along the sheets until his hand finds Roddy’s thigh. If it were Adam or Bobby he would have thrown in a sarcastic _now I remember why we keep you around_ , but he’s afraid it won’t bounce off Roddy the same way. It still feels like something too fragile to joke about after the stuff last summer; he settles for sincere instead. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He shifts to knead into the tight, tired muscle of his calf, and Kyle’s thinks he might actually be having a religious experience after all.

When he opens his eyes again, Adam is making his way back into the room. His hair is damp and combed smooth, and he’s wearing one of Bobby’s soft, warm old-man cardigans, the black and blue and green knit pattern buttoned closed over the parts of his chest that are bound to be colored-up by morning. He sinks into the chair with a sigh and kicks his feet up.

“You look comfy,” Kyle says, reaching out to snag the cuff between his fingers.

“Could say the same for you.” Adam shifts a little so that their fingers lace together. It’s undisputed; they’re holding hands.

He makes a contented noise of agreement; it feels a little like his bones have melted into the bed, but in a good way.

Bobby and Roddy are still moving around the suite: tracking down an extra blanket to spread over Adam’s lap; fishing stuff out the suitcases; killing the lights in the other rooms. From the corner of his eye, he catches them crossing paths in the doorway. Somehow, Roddy is still in his street clothes. Bobby stops him in his tracks with a couple of fingers hooked through his belt loop and helps him peel his t-shirt off over his head. They tip their heads together, talking softly. Kyle can’t make out the words - they’re definitely trying to be quiet for his sake and Adam’s, and sleep is trying to pull him under, dulling the edges of his focus - but whatever they’re talking about, it makes Bobby laugh, and when he tilts his head down to stifle the sound, Roddy drops a kiss into his hair.

Kyle dimly registers the room going dark with the last of the lamps and someone pulling a sheet up and tucking it around him and the bed settling again with the heft of two more bodies and the tickle of Bobby pressing a kiss to that spot behind his ear. His last clear thought before sleep claims him is a twinge of pity for Finn, somewhere across town with nothing but a belt to keep his bed warm.


End file.
